


Drink

by fragilelittleteacup



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Bodily Fluids, Face-Fucking, M/M, Murder, Older Man/Younger Man, Possessive Behavior, Pretty!Will, Rough Sex, first kill, younger!will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 09:13:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8527438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: Will's first bloodletting.





	

Will was in the doorway, hands held up in an expression of confusion, like bewildered child who had broken something. His fingers were curled, palms cupping pools of black liquid that dripped between his fingers like wine, his skin turning red. The colour was exquisite against his palette. His eyes were interrupted by his lazy eyelids, his drunken euphoria. His mouth was curled into a smile, a giggle frozen in his throat. A fallen angel, intoxicated by sin, lost in the delights of pleasure and violence. How God would adore him, in this moment. How Hannibal, in direct defiance of his own pride, wanted to sink to his knees, and worship this cherub.

Hannibal stepped towards him, and reached out. Will looked up, eyes bright like vulgar diamonds, shining with beseeching pride and excitement that made air congeal in Hannibal’s lungs. His heart stammered.

Will lifted his palms.

“Did I do well?”

The whisper was pleading, shivering with exhilaration. Hannibal’s lips widened, his satisfaction ferocious in its euphoria. He knew the arousal, the violence in Will’s eyes- he knew the orgasmic fear, the terror of the first deed.

Will’s palms were under his chin, insistent- it was as if he was a child, desperate for confirmation. There were dots of thick blood splatters in his curled hair, and Hannibal imagined flailing hands, uselessly gripping at his lover’s scalp. He could see the perfection of it all now- Will’s back, taut with muscular definition as he leaned, dominating, over the still-twitching body underneath him- his breaths, quickening, shivering, pupils swallowing his irises, mouth unconsciously expressing his snarling jubilation.

He bent his head, inhaling the lifeblood of his muse’s innocence, eyes closing as the world swirled and cannibalised itself, ceasing to exist-

“Drink.” Will whispered.

Hannibal drank.

 

***

 

Hannibal’s tongue was heavy with the taste of cheap copper when he awoke.

He looked beside him, where the angel himself lay, eyes closed. So innocently asleep, hands sticky with blood, his lips thick with fluid from the night before, from when his face had been buried in Hannibal’s lap. Will had sucked him down enthusiastically, desperately, moans choked and breathless, eyelids fluttering closed as Hannibal grabbed his beautiful charcoal curls, began fucking his face. He had been hypnotised by the thrill of the sin he had just committed. Desperate to make it last. Needing the violence to continue, needing the debauchery to endure. He had gasped and pleaded wordlessly, panting, bright eyes clear and unburdened by conscience or regret. Hannibal had run his fingers down Will's soft cheek as he came down his throat.

Now, in the stillness of the morning, Will’s skin was cream and his cheeks were rosy, eyelashes long and fragile as he slept. The very picture of decadent virtue, contrasting so vividly with the bright red reality of his violence.

The wide-eyed, excited Will Graham breathed heavily in Hannibal’s mind’s eye, still covered in the blood of human cattle, fresh from the kill and new to the thrill of it all. Hannibal arched his neck against the pillow as his body warred with his logic; he could not control that killer.

And, somehow, he didn’t want to. He wanted this boy to rule his own fate. Carve his own path with knives and scalpels and manic smiles. He wanted this boy beneath him, he wanted this boy on top of him.

_Imagine us._

The heat was creeping through him like cold sweat after a nightmare. He was on fire.

_Imagine him._

His perfect legacy. Hannibal’s lips smirked, teeth sharp in the solitude of his lair, eyes unnaturally bright in the darkness- as if he were gifted with the tapetum lucidum of nocturnal predators. His fingers mimicked claws, tearing sheets.

A moan, low and needy, was dragged through his vocal chords like a demanding, sexual growl of a primitive predator.

_Imagine him._

He was unused to such passion, unused to such need. He sat up, knelt behind Will. Took his waist in hand, lifted it, and did not bother preparing him. Growled, low and hungry, at the _burn_ of it, how tight his boy was.

Will stiffened, crying out with dazed shock. He looked over his shoulder, arms floundering, pink lips parted.

“Hannibal,” he gasped, face desperate.

“William,” Hannibal replied, and started to fuck him. They were animals. They were killers. They were so pure, so unrestrained. Will arched his back, cried out helplessly, and Hannibal wondered whether his victims last night had made the same sound. Whether Will had climbed atop them, killed them while they were inside him.

He gripped Will’s hips, moving so fast, so violently, that Will was sobbing. He could see Will’s face growing into a gruesome smile, a pained grin.

“Yes,” he was gasping, “ _Yes_ , Hannibal. Hurt me. _Hurt me.”_

Hannibal answered with a smile of his own, grasping Will’s hair, pulling his head back hard, leaning forward so he could sink his teeth into the flesh of Will’s beautiful, pale neck. Creamy white breaking, thick red streaming out.

“For you, my angel,” he breathed, teeth red, “anything.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
